


Baby, Keep Your Eyes on Me

by KelpieChaos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Breathplay, Fluff, Joker is Hot and Akira is Weak, Joker's driving Akira crazy just kinda cause he can, Knifeplay, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, mild exhibitionism, mild exploration of what Joker means as an existence, song title and lyrics in fic but not a songfic I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpieChaos/pseuds/KelpieChaos
Summary: Akira was pretty used to spotting Shadows out of the corner of his eye. But they normally stayed in the Metaverse, and this one? Not only was it following him around in the real world, but it wasn’t a Shadow. It was Joker.





	Baby, Keep Your Eyes on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/gifts), [cinereous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/gifts), [habenaria_radiata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/gifts).

> _Aren't you something to admire, 'cause your shine is something like a mirror_  
_And I can't help but notice, you reflect in this heart of mine_  
_ If you ever feel alone and the glare makes me hard to find_  
_ Just know that I'm always parallel on the other side_
> 
> _'Cause with your hand in my hand and a pocket full of soul_  
_I can tell you there's no place we couldn't go_  
_ Just put your hand on the glass, I'm here trying to pull you through_  
_ You just gotta be strong_
> 
> _~ Mirrors, Justin Timberlake_

Akira swore he was going crazy.

Or, maybe just…crazier?

Maybe it was just part and parcel of being able to use multiple personas. Ann and Ryuji said that Carmen and Captain Kidd felt like extensions of themselves, more than they were but still a distinct part of their being. Panther and Skull were codenames, but only that.

Akira was pretty sure that Joker wasn’t him.

Or, well, he _was_ him; they were definitely connected and being Joker was comfortable, freeing, it felt right and true and like his wildest dreams of what he could be, what he could do, but at the same time, Akira was _positive_ that he wasn’t the only one making the decisions under that mask.

It didn’t help that he kept seeing Joker out of the corner of his eye.

Especially since he was still in the real world.

It had been a couple weeks since he first spotted Joker reflected in the window of the movie theater as he left with Makoto, though, and nothing had changed, so maybe he was worrying for nothing? He’d catch sight of Joker a few times a day, depending on how many places he went and if they went into Mementos. But fighting shadows felt no different, and Futaba hadn’t picked up any strange signals from him, and the twins and Igor hadn’t said anything. So there couldn’t be anything seriously wrong with him, right?

Akira shook his head, dragging his thoughts back to getting ready for school. If he ran any later, Morgana was likely to come back up and yell at him, and he’d like to avoid starting his day with that again.

Stuffing his notebook in his bag, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame it. He didn’t have time to check it in the bathroom before they left, he could only hope he looked semi-presentable.

Maybe he’ll pick up a mirror after school today.

* * *

The secondhand shop down the street was a blessing, sometimes. Often, if he really wanted to think about how much he’s bought from there. The nice old man sold him a full-length mirror for cheap, probably because the mirror had gotten warped and tarnished. Akira couldn’t say that really bothered him, though. The wonky image mostly just reminded him of the Metaverse, and how it subtly changed the area around palaces.

He waited until Leblanc was empty for the night, so Sojiro couldn’t complain he was bothering the customers, then lugged the tall mirror from the shop to his room. The space between his couch and desk had been cleared out earlier, making sure there was plenty of room for the mirror. Leaning the mirror against the wall, Akira held it in place with one hand as he grabbed the nails and hammer from his desk.

“Hey, Morgana,” he called.

He heard a sleepy ‘mrrph?’ from behind him.

“Can you help me keep this level?” He prepped the first nail, shooting a look over his shoulder at the cat.

Morgana stretched, rolling his shoulders, before sitting up properly. “Sure!” He chirped. “I’ll supervise. You’d never manage to get it right if I didn’t help, right?”

Akira smiled, turning back around so he wouldn’t see him roll his eyes. Morgana was great, but sometimes he really thought too little of Akira’s abilities.

“That’s right,” Akira quietly agreed. “Thanks.”

The next few minutes were spent with only the sounds of the hammer and Morgana’s thoughtful voice calling corrections.

Akira stood back after the last nail went in, admiring the new addition to his room. The mirror didn’t match anything else, but it still seemed to fit right in. Kind of like him, he supposed.

“Hey, it’s getting kind of late. We should go to bed soon.”

He smiled at Morgana’s reflection and nodded, turning to grab his pajamas to change into. As he turned, a flash of _something_ caught the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, nothing had changed in the mirror. And Morgana obviously hadn’t seen anything either.

But he could have _sworn_ he saw a flutter of black leather just on the edge of the reflection.

He was definitely going crazy.

* * *

Well, Akira reasoned, at least he was going crazy _consistently_.

Ever since he put in that mirror, Joker seemed to follow him everywhere. There wasn’t a reflective surface Joker hadn’t made an appearance in so far: the glass of the Shibuya shops, the mirror in the school bathroom, the _lake_.

He always disappeared before anyone else seemed to notice him, but Akira was absolutely certain that Joker was still watching from whatever mirror world he was in.

Even now, walking through Shibuya Station on the way to Shujin, Akira could feel Joker’s eyes on him. Surprisingly enough, the feeling of being constantly watched was nearly soothing, once he figured out it wasn’t anyone dangerous. It almost felt like he had a guardian angel. Though he was pretty sure that guardian angels weren’t supposed to have the impish focus that Joker did.

He never had a chance to figure out _what_ Joker wanted though, with him disappearing every time someone so much as glanced in his direction.

Akira stopped, nearly smacking himself and barely hearing Morgana yowl at being jostled. He was such an idiot! All he had to do was get alone with a mirror.

He had a mirror at home, and friends who would probably be perfectly willing to take Morgana for the night. If he could get Ann to agree, then Morgana would even go with minimal questioning. It was perfect! But he’d need an excuse. Maybe–

The squeal of brakes snapped Akira out of his thoughts, and he rushed to make the train.

He’d figure out what to say when he got to school. Worst comes to worst, he’ll say he wanted some _private guy time_.

* * *

He might never be able to look Ann in the eyes again, but at least he was down one cat and up some unquestioned and unlikely-to-be-interrupted free time.

Akira nodded to Sojiro and hurried up the stairs, trying to get out of the way before he decided that he either wanted Akira to help man the café or out of Leblanc altogether until evening.

He dropped his bag on the table, not bothering to pick it up as it _shooshed_ onto the floor. He stepped up to the mirror innocently hanging where he put it, shoulders squared and searching for his evasive reflection.

Only to find himself staring back. Only himself.

…What?

Akira shifted back half a step, brows furrowing as he searched the reflection of the room behind him as well. No Joker on the bed, or leaning against the shelves, or over by the houseplant. Where was he?

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Akira let his eyes drift to the floor, absently watching his foot scuff against the wooden boards.

Joker _always _showed up in the nearest mirror these days. He followed Akira around _everywhere_, so why wasn’t he showing up here?

Now that he thought about it, he had never seen Joker when he was completely alone. He was always with one of his friends, either hanging out or walking around with Morgana. Was a second Metaverse-user actually required? That might make things…complicated. Especially if Joker was going to run if they tried to see him…

He chewed on his lip, trying to decide what to try next to corner Joker. Casually, he glanced back to the mirror, meeting liquid gilt silver eyes.

Akira yelped, scrambling back. Those were _not_ his eyes. Heart pounding, he met the amused gaze in the mirror, shadowed as it was by a white and black mask. His thief mask. _Joker’s _thief mask.

_Hello._

The voice drifted from nowhere, sounding like nothing but instantly recognizable as Akira’s own. He stared at Joker, stunned still. Joker’s lips hadn’t moved, though a small smirk pulled at one corner.

How did he speak? He was just a reflection!

_Just a reflection?_ The voice, Joker’s voice, crooned. The smirk shifted to an exaggerated pout, but the amused gleam in his eyes didn’t change. _I’m hurt. Here I’ve been wanting to meet you properly for ages now, and you dismiss me as a reflection?_

“I – You–” Akira choked out. “What?”

_Why don’t you come closer? _Joker beckoned Akira with one blood red hand. _We can talk. And perhaps, if you’re a good boy, I’ll even answer some of your questions._

Akira found himself sitting in front of the mirror almost before he realized he moved. Joker mirrored – ha! Akira was hilarious, if he said so himself – his position, both sitting with their legs crossed and leaning in towards the glass.

“How – _why_ – are you following me?” The question was out before Akira could think it through. Though it’s not like he had any better ones, anyway.

Joker just laughed, a small, confident noise that shouldn’t have sounded as sexy as it did.

_Because I wanted to._ He propped his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, the very picture of lazy indulgence. _Because you’re strong enough that I could, and I wanted to see how far I could go._

“But…” Akira trailed off, suddenly unsure. “But you’re me…aren’t you? So how can you want…anything?”

_I’m you? You’re sure about that?_ _You didn’t seem so sure earlier. _Joker smirked, cocking his head in a distinctly un-Akira way. It was too… It was too _careless_. Akira might be devil-may-care about a lot of things, but he took a lot of care in the way he moved and appeared to others. Joker’s posture radiated self-confidence, the kind that said it didn’t matter what anyone else’s opinion was because _they_ didn’t matter.

A chill ran up his spine, and he felt his eyes widen. Locked with that uncanny stare, Akira’s thoughts buzzed with alarm. If Joker wasn’t him, then who was he? What did he become every time they went into the Metaverse?

_Stop fretting. You’re not wrong; you’re just not quite right either._

Akira blinked, and Joker had mirrored his position perfectly again. The cocky attitude and insolent disregard were both gone, only the costume remaining to indicate this wasn’t just Akira’s reflection.

_I’m what you could be, if all of society’s inhibitions were thrown off. What you might become if you stop giving a damn about anyone but yourself. If you take the power of Personas for granted._

Akira slowly nodded, absorbing that. Muscle by muscle, he relaxed. There’s no reason for Joker to lie to him about this, after all. It would explain why he felt less restrained in the Metaverse, if they basically met in the middle and compromised on ideals, and fits how he got a Persona in the first place. Throwing off society’s expectations to forge his own path.

But that didn’t explain how Joker was _here_. He should be restricted to the Metaverse.

Joker shrugged, answering his questions before he could even ask them. _Don’t know, don’t care. It’s the most fun we’ve had in years._ He leaned forward again, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. _Want to have some more?_

More? Akira nearly laughed at him. “You’re invisible to everyone but me, and I already look crazy enough talking to a cat, never mind my _reflection_.” He could see the headline now: Local Boy on Probation Sent to Psych Ward for Talking to His Shadow (and Cat).

_Aw, come on. I know you’re tempted, curious to see how far this can go. You can’t lie to me._

Biting his lip in hesitation, Akira wished he could refute that. But he _was_ curious, and he _did_ want to see how much further they could push this.

It didn’t help that Joker could probably convince him to do anything as long as he didn’t stop talking. His voice had an inherent purr to it even when he wasn’t trying to cajole, and every motion exuded near seductive confidence. Akira was pretty sure that his own voice and gestures didn’t do that.

Actually, he was absolutely certain that they didn’t do that.

Go figure, he was the type to be attracted to a more competent version of himself. Ann would never let him live it down if she knew. She especially wouldn’t if she knew apparently he was so desperate that just this was enough to get his blood warming.

And really, he already looked crazy for talking to his cat, so it’s not like much would change if he started talking to his reflection, too.

Akira nodded, resolute. He shifted towards the mirror, watching as what could only be described as unbridled glee bloomed on his counterpart’s face. “How do we do this?”

_You need to want me there._

Akira waited one heartbeat, two, before leaning back.

“But I do want you here,” he said, voice blank except for the thread of confusion lacing the words together.

Rolling his eyes, Joker sat back with a huff. _Not like that. You need to be _focused_ on wanting me there with you, sure with every fiber of your being that I shouldn’t be stuck in this mirror._

“So…meditation?” Akira couldn’t say that sounded interesting. Sure, he had the patience to wait for the perfect ambush in a palace, but that was completely different than just sitting on his dusty floor wishing. And it’s not like he could focus while Joker was watching like that anyway; he could feel those eyes pinning him down to his soul as a cat would its prey.

_We could…_ Joker hummed. _But I think a more vigorous activity would work better._

That sounded interesting. Usually focusing and high energy activity were fairly conflicting. At least when trying to focus on something outside of the activity itself. God knows how many times he’s hit that trance-like flow state when working out with Ryuji or playing with Hifumi.

_You’re thinking about this much too hard._

He stuck his tongue out at Joker. “Why don’t you give me a clue, then?”

A smile slunk across Joker’s expression, dangerous as a blade and dark as the still depths of a lake.

That really didn’t help with Akira’s blood rerouting itself away from his brain.

_Have you forgotten? I am thou, thou art I… I know exactly what’s distracting you._

Akira froze, all the heat in his body racing to his cheeks. Well, all of it except for that hot ball of adrenaline sinking low in his gut.

_Why don’t you show me, and we can go from there?_

Joker’s voice had dropped another half-octave, rumbling over Akira like an inevitable storm. He had moved to crouch in front of the mirror so smoothly Akira hadn’t realized he’d even changed positions until it seemed like Joker could launch himself through. His eyes burned, fire of temptation melting the silver until Akira lost himself in the shifting colors. He looked ready to _consume_ Akira, and take every second he could to enjoy the meal.

Akira was faint.

The air was too thin, and his brain was misfiring, trapped under Joker’s stare.

Or, wait, he’d stopped breathing.

Gasping, Akira felt reality impose itself again, hazy at the edges but enough that he could hear the chatter of the TV and customers from downstairs.

“There’re people here!” He hissed, though he didn’t have the breath for anything stronger yet anyway. “I can’t–”

_You say that like you wouldn’t enjoy being caught._

Akira felt his throat close around his words. Joker was…not wrong. As much as it would absolutely destroy his life to be caught _in media res_ by Sojiro while the store was open – or even worse, by a customer – he couldn’t say the idea wasn’t tantalizing. And he did tell Ann he’d be doing something like this in order to get her to take Morgana.

…Fuck it.

He met Joker’s eyes only long enough to see victory dawn across oh-so-familiar features, before the hem of his shirt cut his sight. It caught on his elbows, trapping him. He struggled with it, feeling Joker’s laughter draw a flush across his cheeks and down his neck. Akira gave up, arms limply propped on his head, defeated by his own shirt. Why couldn’t he ever have anything go right? And he had just decided to do this, too. How could he be so cool and put together in the Metaverse and this mess in reality?

_Is that it? All that our suave leader can do?_

Joker’s tone was tinged with his amusement, and Akira huffed. He couldn’t see Joker through his shirt, but he could practically taste his smirk. Though if he wanted a chance to actually taste it, he needed to get this _goddamn_ shirt _off_ already.

_Finally_, his head popped out, hair floofing up around in a soft halo. He’d seen his reflection enough to know that the curls would have gone everywhere, nothing like Joker’s smooth coiffure.

“Hah! Show’s over for you, shirt!” He crowed quietly, victory bubbling through him. He stuck his tongue out at it, twisting to throw it towards his hamper. It missed, of course, but Akira found he couldn’t care about that when he could feel Joker’s eyes tracing along his newly exposed skin, drawing goosebumps. He flashed his best smirk at the mirror, eyes not quite managing to meet Joker’s, and immediately set after his zip.

_So eager to put on a show for me…_ Joker nearly crooned the words, and he leaned forwards with slow deliberation to place his elbows on his knees, propping his head up on laced fingers to watch as Akira wriggled out of his school trousers.

Left in his, admittedly kind of ratty, grey boxers, Akira couldn’t hide the flush that raced down his neck and across his chest.

_Come now, don’t be shy. It’s just you and your shadow here._

That helped less than it sounded like it should, when the entire purpose of this was to bring said shadow to life.

Akira scrambled up, lurching sideways to pull at a drawer in his desk. Only way to get this done was to do it, and even the embarrassment couldn’t drown how much he found himself wanting to put on a show. The drawer stuck, much to his mortification. Face burning, he yanked on it harder, this time getting it to open with a lurch and brief screech. He grabbed his prize, nearly tripping on himself in his haste to return to the mirror. Joker hadn’t said anything since he got up, and if he had disappeared again Akira didn’t know what he’d do. Scream, probably, if he was being honest.

But, no, Joker was still there.

He dropped back down in front of the mirror, feet folded under him and knees spread wide. If he was going to show off, then he’d make a goddamn production out of it. Carefully, moving slow and sending an oh-so-false demure glance at Joker, Akira slicked his right hand. The lube was cool, but it wouldn’t stay that way long, he knew. He watched his hand, felt Joker watching him, as he traced light swirls across his thigh, leaving wet gloss behind. A shiver ran across his skin, the combined sensation of his fingers and Joker’s attention causing his breath to stutter already.

_Beautiful. All that lovely skin, practically begging to be touched._

A whine edged out on his exhale, and Akira raised his clean hand to dance light fingers across his chest, teasing the edges of his nipples and brushing the grooves of his ribs. He could feel himself dripping, body twitching as he teased at the thin skin where inner thigh met hips.

_That’s right, just like that. You’re already desperate, aren’t you? Wishing I was there to take care of you exactly how you need._

This time a shudder wracked through him, bowing his body as heat shivered through his veins. He did want that, wanted Joker to pull his hands away and replace them with his own. They would be steadier, would tease with sure motions instead of his own shaking strokes.

_Look at me. Look at me and touch yourself._

Akira forced his head up, eyes blinking open to meet molten silver. Joker hadn’t moved, head still lazily resting on hands, the slightest smirk pulling at his lips. What would he taste like? Would he taste like the mints Akira had eaten with lunch? Like his own mouth tasted like to him? Like nothing?

_Akira._ The word was hard, demanding his attention with no measure of leniency. _I told you to touch yourself._

Joker’s smirk was gone, and Akira found himself nodding and wrapping his slick hand around himself before he consciously realized he was going to move. The feeling – tight, wet, _hot_ – nearly ripped a gasp from him, and he bit his lip, trying to focus. This was to bring Joker to life. That wouldn’t happen if he went off as soon as he started moving. He pulled in a long breath and slowly let it out, settling his sparking nerves. A short stroke, just enough to spread some slick. Another, longer as he pressed his free hand against the floor, trying to keep his balance.

_There you go. Feels good, doesn’t it? Imagine how much better it could be if I was there._

Oh Akira was definitely imagining that. He wouldn’t have to focus on staying up and on moving, could just let Joker support him. Let Joker touch him, move him.

He pressed a thumb against his head, stroked along the slit and felt as precome near gushed out. It smoothed his motions, let him move faster as fire grew low in his stomach. Panting, he couldn’t help but lean closer, hot breath fogging up the mirror over Joker’s lips. Fuck, he wanted to kiss them, wanted to feel Joker’s lips against his own, his hands on his skin and his body pressed close. He caught flashes of silver, focused entirely on him, and wanted them closer, nearly couldn’t stand the fact they were separated by glass.

_Is that all you want from me? Only touches? _Joker hummed, the sound dark and consuming. _I suppose I could do only that… Or I could take more. Though you might have to work a little harder for that._

It took a few inestimable moments for that to process. Akira had never even done this much with someone else before, though he couldn’t say he’d never thought about that. Of letting someone open him and fill him up. Dizzy with the idea, he nearly dropped the lube in a frantic grab at its lid, Joker’s low laugh sending sparks through his shaky muscles. Messy with lust, Akira dumped lube into his palm, uncaring as it dripped onto the floor.

He found himself on his knees, forearm bracing himself on the mirror, as his hand went behind him. Joker had followed him up, rested his own hand where Akira’s was, and Akira couldn’t tell if he was actually telling him how much he wanted to touch him, wanted Joker to touch him, or if he was just thinking it loud enough to drown most everything out. It didn’t drown out the touch of his fingers, though, slick against his ass.

The noisy almost-sobs must be from him, as Joker was just watching. Akira caught his lower lip between his teeth, tried to quiet himself, but a fingertip sliding into him wrenched an overwrought noise from him. Then Joker was talking to him again, but he couldn’t tell the words. His voice was cajoling, soft and seductive. It tipped towards appreciation as he pressed the finger deeper, and he shuddered he felt his own muscles twitch around him. He pulled back and pushed in again, sliding smoother as he adjusted to the sensation.

_-doing such a good job for me, opening yourself up. A treasure, just waiting for me to take it._

Akira whined, high and broken, as Joker’s words finally made sense. “P-please,” he managed to gasp, “Joker, I- please!” It wasn’t enough, but Joker would know what to do. He always knew what to do when Akira was out of his depth, always seamlessly offered his abilities and knowledge to fill the gap.

_Give yourself another. You’ll need it if you want even a chance of handling me._

His eyes crashed closed, and he desperately shoved a second finger in. Pain jolted across his nerves, but he didn’t stop twisting his wrist, trying to get even more. He kept glancing on the edge of something, pleasure sparking each time, but he couldn’t quite reach it. Foggy realization coalesced. Joker would be able to reach. He just needed him to actually appear.

“Joker… Joker, I need-“ A flash of molten sensation cut him off. He had almost hit that spot that time. His thoughts were thick, felt drunk on the motion of his hand. But he was saying something, needed to tell Joker something, get him to… “Touch me, please!”

_Begging? _Joker’s voice was smug, but Akira couldn’t get his eyes to open to check his expression. _What if I’m enjoying the show? You’ll have to do better if you really want me there._

He needed better? Better would be if Joker fucking _touched _him already, pet his hair or stroked his skin or fucking anything, anything but sitting there watching. Akira bared his teeth, shoved his fingers in harder. If Joker wasn’t going to actually help him, then he’d just have to help himself. And he was so close to hitting where he wanted, he was sure he could do it.

But he _wanted_ Joker, wanted the second pair of hands and the warm leather and mocking smile and, God, he wanted to know what that kiss would be like, what those touches would be.

He hadn’t realized his mouth was open until fingers covered with sin-soft leather pressed down on his tongue. They tasted like nothing, like sweat and heat, and a groan ripped itself out of him, dark and shuddering.

Akira couldn’t breathe as he was caged in, legs crossing over his and chest pushing him into the mirror. His hand was stuck, pressed into him between their hips, and the loss of motion was nearly excruciating. Fire was in his veins, and where the push and pull had tamed it, now it blazed uncontrolled.

Cold sharpness pressed just hard enough to force Akira’s chin up, and he couldn’t have stopped his eyes sliding open if Death himself had told him to. His breath had fogged the mirror. For a moment, that was all Akira could see. He blinked, and suddenly Joker’s fingers were in his mouth, red gloves nearly matching his lips, and Joker’s dagger was under his chin, only barely turned so it didn’t cut him. Joker’s eyes were on him, hunger warring with satisfaction as he slowly buried his nose in Akira’s hair.

Carefully, moving smooth and slow as molasses, Joker trailed the knife down Akira’s throat.

Tremors shook him, a weak whimper pushing thin skin against the blade.

_Shh… Settle. We wouldn’t want anything to interrupt us, now would we?_ His voice surrounded Akira, drifted from every impossible direction. The knife dipped further, caressed the hollow between his collarbones. Slowly, so slow he could only feel it move, it slipped down his chest, glittering in the mirror as his shallow breaths disturbed its path. Joker’s fingers slid over his tongue, the leather filling his mouth with the taste of sweat and smoke. He couldn’t help licking up between them, chasing more of the taste. Tracing the bottom of his rib cage, the knife disappeared behind him, between them, and trailed down his bowed spine. It slid under his hand, tip dipping into the v of skin where ass smoothed into back. Akira watched Joker watch him, watched his eyes skim down the faint red line left on his skin from his blade and lift back to his, molten silver burning and shadowed scarlet.

The flat of the knife pressed against his palm. He let his arm go lax, let the blade pull his fingers the slightest bit from his body. Joker’s hips pushed closer, shoved them back in. Shaking, wet moans escaped him against Joker’s glove as he let Joker fuck him with his own fingers. Hyperaware of the cool metal against his skin, it vanishing like it never was startled him. Joker’s hips never paused grinding his fingers deeper, but his hand reappeared, ghosting up his stomach so lightly he couldn’t help but squirm. It settled against his throat, thumb on one side and fingers on the other, palm barely brushing skin. The sight punched a small sob out of him.

Joker’s fingers slid from his mouth, the leather dark and shiny from his saliva. Wet fingers brushed his bottom lip. Akira chased after them, but the hand on his throat tightened, held him in place. His fingers danced in front of him, teasing him as he tried to reach them with an outstretched tongue. Joker hummed, sliding the pad of his thumb along his tongue into his mouth then back out in a slick slide. The mirror reflected vibrant red against pale skin as Joker reached down, wrapping wet fingers around Akira’s hard cock. Jolting, Akira shoved back onto his own fingers away from the sudden heat around his cock, forwards into the silky pressure surrounding it. A gasp with something reminiscent of Joker’s name flew from him.

Laughing, the sound dark, dangerous, Joker slowly pumped him once, twice. His body crowded closer, pinning Akira until he couldn’t move at all. His voice rumbled in his throat next to Akira’s ear, in the warm, shimmering air around them.

_Still now. Let me give you what you need. _His thumb swiped over Akira’s cock-head, sending an electric shock up his body. He repeated the motion, not waiting for the jolt to finish before doing it again. Kept doing it until Akira only flinched, tears beading in his eyelashes and body tremoring too hard to react anymore. One more time and Akira sobbed, weight crashing forwards as his body gave up. Joker’s hold was secure around him, forearm against his chest and hand steady on his throat. His other hand curved around his hip bone, fingers tracing the hollow. Distant heat rolled through him, and Akira listened to his heart as it raced in his chest.

The stillness grated on him, and he shoved back against his fingers, against Joker’s hips. “Jo-Joker. _Please_.”

Another smirk pulled on what Akira could see of his face. His fingers slid off his hip, cupped his ass and trailed up to where Akira’s own fingers were buried in him. He traced where knuckles met skin, pushed just the barest tip of a finger in then pulled back to skate more teasing touches along the delicate skin. Akira snarled at his reflection. He opened his mouth to tell Joker to get a move on already, choked on the words as Joker shoved a finger in next to Akira’s two. Sharp sensation ripped through him, and he groaned as he brokenly rode their fingers.

_Is that what you wanted?_

Akira nodded, head bouncing counterpoint to the motion of his body. The embers of hot desperation low in his gut were catching fire, thoughts spiraling away back under need.

_Then how about this?_ Another finger was shoved in with the last word, and the only thing that stopped Akira’s shout was the fact that he had no air to scream with.

Joker’s hand held his own, and he used his grip to fuck Akira with all four fingers. They dragged against hypersensitive nerves, roughly dragging sensation from him with harsh thrusts. His knees skidded on the floor, skin catching against the wooden boards as he was shoved forwards. Gagging on whines, he tried to spread his legs further, give Joker more room to fuck him. Joker’s knees next to his own stopped that. Akira writhed in place, caught on every side by red gloves, black leather, grey fabric.

One red finger tapping on the side of his throat commanded his attention. He dragged the scattered pieces of his brain together enough to meet Joker’s hooded eyes with a questioning huff of air, rewarded when Joker smoothed his hand down his throat, along the hammering arteries. Akira swallowed as the hand returned, nodded and leaned into it when it pressed against him. Slowly, it closed around his throat. His skin dimpled under each fingertip in the mirror, and his vision swam with dark spots highlighted with vibrant red. Distantly, his heart roared, his chest hitched, his face flushed red as the gloves. He drowned under a fuzzy ocean, lost under a mountain of sensation, tossed on the undertow of Joker’s fingers in him.

Then the hand was gone, and he gasped in surprise as a wave of dizziness rocked him. Every nerve was screaming, sore throat and sore ass and sore cock all vying for attention as he watched a mosaic of colors dance across his vision. Tears ran down his face as he blinked, dripping off his chin. He watched as they were wiped away by red fingers, made a hoarse eager noise as the fingers drifted back down his throat. Pleasure was free-wheeling through him, driven by the incessant thrusting inside him. He needed those fingers holding him still, holding him stable again, ripping away his sense and letting him ride the sensations.

The hand tightened, soft leather pressing into bruising skin. He was washed under the rush of vertigo, swaying between Joker’s hands. The room spun in the mirror, fading into darkness around them. Joker’s white mask and bright eyes were the only stable thing in Akira’s world, and he desperately held onto them, vision blurring. A whip of knife sharp pleasure tore through him as Joker pressed deep into him. He pressed closer, pressed away, perhaps didn’t move at all in the dappled sea of everything he was in. It was too much; it was not enough; it was more than Akira could handle and he needed more still. The hand on his throat dropped, wrapped around his cock and pumped him with harsh tugs.

Akira choked on nothing, on air and saliva and the rush of blood in his ears. Fire burned through his veins as his muscles seized. His come painted his reflection, white ropes dripping down the smooth surface. Ringing filled his head, an iridescent emptiness drifting through his thoughts. Messy gasping sounded around him, and it wasn’t until it was interrupted with a weak whine as Joker pulled their fingers out that he realized that was him. Joker’s touch on his skin felt like it came through layers of wrapping paper, felt like it hit exposed nerves directly, as he shifted him, pulling his hips back and lowering his chest to the floor. Akira panted into the wood, wrung out and wanderingly curious what Joker was doing.

Something wide and hot pressed against his tender rim. Realization tremored through him just as Joker’s cock sunk into him with a smooth thrust. Immediately he pulled out to shove back in. It hurt, friction forcing tired nerves to overload with sensation. And yet Akira wanted more, needed Joker to ruin him. The only things keeping him up were bruisingly tight hands on his hips, tilting him up into each punishing shove. Sparks of too sharp pleasure curled through him, and he sobbed with it. His voice wrenched through his wrecked throat, adding to the frazzled burning mess inside him. Joker’s hips stuttered, pressed deep as he shook behind Akira. He pulled out, and Akira felt as hot stripes landed against his skin. He laid there, dazed and shaking, the feeling of Joker’s come dripping out of him and down his thighs overwhelming.

Gentle hands wrapped around his shoulders, shifted him so that they could pick him up. Cradled close and secure, he drifted in the sway of being carried. Softly, he was placed down on his bed, still held in strong arms and surrounded by the warmth of Joker’s body. He curled closer as careful fingers threaded through his hair. They massaged slow circles against his scalp and drifted down his spine, loosening tight muscles as they went. They stroked down his back, then drifted back up to repeat the pattern again. The chest under his head vibrated slightly, a quiet song drifting between them.

The tune sounded…familiar. Almost like…a…

Dream…

_Goodnight, Akira._

He thought he murmured a response as the veil of sleep dragged him down.

_May we meet again, in the infinite possibilities of your soul._


End file.
